


Yuletide Tales 2015: The Formative Days of Yule

by erestor



Series: YULETIDE TALES [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:58:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Yuletide-present newly-wed Dwarf Dûlo brings for his wife from Imladris is not quite what she expected. And as Master Erestor has put an explicit export ban on the goods, their first Yuletide together is absolutely not what the young couple expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue Velvet

**Author's Note:**

> Sia”: Language of the Plains Elves, meaning “parent”. Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta by Eveiya.
> 
> This Yuletide Tale is set in the "Burning Woods" universe, and also features Mauburz, Lórindol and Estorel.

Dûlo was very pleased with himself, so he hummed a merry song while holding the reins of his horse lightly. The animal didn't have to pull too hard; Dûlo had sold all his goods in Imladris, and now there were only his personal belongings, a few woollen blankets, two bottles of "Mauburz' Yuletide Cream Liqueur" and two bolts of finest blue velvet loaded on his sleigh. He had purchased the velvet as a Yuletide present for Dîn, his wife. They had only been married since spring, and he was still somewhat surprised that she had chosen him of all her suitors.

There had been many, and most from older and nobler families, and her father had not been overly delighted when she had made her choice.

"Child, there are stronger Dwarves than him, with greater wealth, from more influential families. And, if I may say so, Dwarves of more appealing appearance."

Dîn had just shrugged.

"That's all very well, father, but wealth can be lost, families broken up, and as for appearances... what are you going to do when you get tired of gazing at each other? No, no, my whiskers are splendid enough for two! I would rather choose a Dwarf who knows how to argue and reconcile, and who can make me laugh. These are the things which keep a marriage alive and strong."

Of this conversation, Dûlo knew nothing, of course, but he knew that Dîn had, in his opinion, the brightest pair of blue eyes in all of Middle-earth and the most splendid whiskers of all Dwarf ladies he knew, and so the blue velvet would make a splendid robe for her. It had been exorbitantly expensive, for Imladris velvet was the finest, but then this was their first Yule, and he wanted to give her something special.

While Dûlo was daydreaming about his wife and the upcoming Yule festivities, he had almost reached the small home where they lived. They'd settled here for the duration of the season's trade and would now return to the settlements of the Dwarves. It was a nice and cosy little hut, but Dûlo longed for the security of a cave and the company of his kin. They hoped to have a family soon, and this was no place for Dwarflings to grow up.

When he approached the hut, Dîn stepped out of the door and waved. Dûlo's heart skipped a beat when he saw her, and he had to smile when he heard the gentle chiming of bells. Dîn always wore tiny silver bells in her braids, a custom he found most charming.

"Dûlo! Mahal be praised, you're back!"

Dûlo reined in his horse and jumped off the sleigh. He took his wife in his arms and swung her around, kissing her heartily.

"I am, my love, and it's been a very successful season! Here's a wealthy Dwarf standing in front of you, and I left some poor Elves behind!"

Dîn laughed and pulled playfully on one of Dûlo's braids.

"Hopefully not too poor or their Yule will be ruined."

"Naw, our prices are fair. It was a good decision to come there; dealings with the Lord of Imladris are pleasant."

"And gainful."

They both giggled, then Dîn raised an eyebrow.

"And? Did you bring something for me?"

Dûlo pulled a face.

"Eh - curse it! I'm afraid I forgot all about you. So many distractions, you know. Business, the pretty Elf maidens..."

Dîn elbowed him in the side.

"You! Want to sleep outside tonight? There might be more snow!"

Dûlo grinned, then he kissed her on the cheek.

"I wanted to give it to you on Yule, but you might make something of it for the Yule feast at my father's home. Go, look at it, it's under the furs on the back of the sleigh."

Dîn clapped her hands and trudged through the snow towards the sleigh. She pulled the deerskins covering the back away, and stood on tip-toe to look inside. Dûlo had to smile upon seeing the anticipation on her face, but then that joyous expression changed to one of surprise and then horror. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, then looked over her shoulder at her husband.

"Dûlo," she finally said, "have you completely lost you mind?"

His face dropped.

"Why? Don't you like the colour?"

"The colour?" Dîn threw her arms in the air. "The _colour_? Are you insane? The colour is lovely, but how do you intend to explain this to our parents?"

Dûlo came to stand next to her, then he looked into the sleigh. There, curled up in the woollen blankets, holding an empty bottle of cream liqueur with eyes veiled in reverie, a small Elven child slept peacefully, his golden hair held back by two braids.

"Mahal, give me strength," Dûlo gasped.

"Here," Dîn said, and handed him the second bottle of cream liqueur.


	2. Blue Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yuletide-present newly-wed Dwarf Dûlo brings for his wife from Imladris is not quite what she expected. And as Master Erestor has put an explicit export ban on the goods, their first Yuletide together is absolutely not what the young couple expected.
> 
> Lórindol befriends Dûlo, and is fascinated by gemstones and tales of old. In the meantime, his father Glorfindel ignores all warnings regarding the importance of the formative magic of Yule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sia”: Language of the Plains Elves, meaning “parent”. Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta by Eveiya.
> 
> This Yuletide Tale is set in the "Burning Woods" universe, and also features Mauburz, Lórindol and Estorel.

Traditionally, responsibility for the organisation of the Yule festivities in Imladris rested on Erestor's shoulders. Every year Glorfindel tried to convince him to delegate some of his duties, but Erestor was of the firm conviction that things would only be done the way they should be done if _he_ did them all by himself. So in the weeks leading up to Yule he was up long before sunrise and busy until deep into the night, and his sons only saw him at bedtime, when he rushed into their bedchambers to wish them a good night.

Mauburz was not happy with these arrangements, and radiated disapproval like a stove does heat, so when Glorfindel stood in her shop and asked her once again to look after Lórindol, she waved a large book under his nose. He recognised it only too well and tried to sneak out the door before she could start her rant, but Mauburz had no intention of letting him go without a stern telling-off.

"Here, says in chapter 11 of _History of Mordorian Plains Elves_ : 'First four years in life of Elflings are formative'. Now, if nice Lord Glorfindel and nice Master Erestor always let Lórindol stay with Mauburz, he will end up being Orc. You want that?"

"If our son should end up being like you, we will all be very happy and praise the Valar," Glorfindel said gallantly, "but really, you need not worry, Mistress Mauburz. It is only a few weeks; this cannot make much of a difference."

Mauburz pointed to a passage which she had found of particular interest, and tapped her claw on the paper.

"But says that Yule is time of very strong magic. Very important and formative time. Rabbit said so, too. Rabbit is Plains Elf, he must know. You from Gondolin, you have no idea."

Seeing that Glorfindel wasn't impressed with her warnings, she finally shrugged and put the book aside. Lórindol, who sat on the counter, immediately reached for it and began to leaf through it, looking at the pictures.

"Good, you are parents, do as you like. But not come crying to Mauburz when Lórindol wants Warg for Yule or starts using contractions when speaks."

Glorfindel promised not to hold Mauburz responsible for anything, kissed Lórindol's cheek and hurried towards the training grounds, where twelve young Elves were waiting to be educated in the art of wielding a sword without stabbing their own feet. Estorel was already expecting him there, eager to watch the lesson.

Keeping Estorel busy while Erestor unleashed the perfect Yule on Middle-earth wasn't too difficult; he was now tall enough to sit on a pony and joined Glorfindel on many rides around Imladris. Lórindol, however, wasn't interested in swords or fighting; for him, it was the merchants from all corners of Middle-earth selling their goods who proved a welcome distraction, for he was fascinated by all things blinking and shiny.

The shop in the arcade adjacent to the one Mauburz owned had stood empty after the previous owner, a cobbler, had sailed west with his family. His departure had been a great relief for Mauburz, for the stench of boiling glue wafting through the air had been both an insult to her nose and, as she often lamented, damaging to her business.

"Nobody buy things in aromatherapy shop if aromatherapy shop smells like wet Warg!"

When Dûlo enquired with Lord Elrond if he could rent the empty shop for the six weeks leading up to Yule, Mauburz had no objections.

"Gems? Gems good. Gems do not stink and are pretty to look at. Also, Dwarves know many stories. Will be entertaining while waiting for customers."

Dûlo had quickly overcome his initial shock at having an Orc as a neighbour, for Mauburz was friendly, and her shop frequented by many customers. After making their purchases of fragrant oils and sweet-smelling soaps, many of them had a look at Dûlo's merchandise as well.

So it happened that one day Glorfindel bought a beautiful silver ring with a black stone for Erestor, while Lórindol stared with big eyes at all the colourful gems on offer.

"You like pretty stones, don't you?" Dûlo asked.

"Oh yes," Lórindol said. "Red and green ones, but I think I like the blue ones best." He pointed at a sapphire. "Look, ada, this stone has the same colour as your eyes!"

"Almost, penneth, almost," Glorfindel replied, looking a little flustered.

"Well, your eyes are blue as well," Dûlo said. "And so are my wife's," he added, for he hadn't seen his wife for weeks and missed her very much.

"And your Elflings'?" Lórindol asked.

Dûlo scratched his beard.

"Our - ah, you mean... eh, we don't have children yet, little one."

"Why not?"

Glorfindel sighed.

"Lórindol, I told you not to ask people personal questions."

"Why not?"

"Because they are private."

"Why are Elflings private?"

"Lórindol, stop asking questions. Look at the pretty stones."

In the following days, Lórindol began to spend more and more time in the shop next door. The Dwarf and his merchandise offered a wonderful distraction to him, and Mauburz, who was very busy, wasn't unhappy with this development. After all, what harm could it do if the little one looked at pretty gems?

Dûlo didn't mind the presence of the Elfling at all, but he was a little surprised that the Elves would let such a small child run around without supervision. Alas, he soon realised that Lórindol was older than his years, and this was Imladris, the Last Homely House - could there be a safer place for an Elfling? However, Dûlo's gems soon became of lesser interest to Lórindol than Dûlo's tales. He told the wide-eyed Elfling of the Glittering Caves, of the beauty of the Dwarven realms, told him of the great Dwarf heroes, of battles and quests, and Lórindol was like a little sponge, absorbing all those tales and storing them in his memory.

One day, Dûlo gave Lórindol a kaleidoscope he'd made from various chips of gems, and to the little Elf, this seemed to be the most wonderful item in all of Arda. He'd now stare for hours into the tube, slowly turning it, mesmerised by the ever-changing patterns and colours produced by the mirrors inside. More than once Mauburz had to carry him back to her shop because he was too reluctant to leave.

"Glorfindel will see Mauburz was right when he grows beard," Mauburz muttered once when Lórindol was particularly stroppy. "Good thing Yule is over soon, time Erestor back to being sia again."

Of all these goings-on, Erestor didn't notice a thing. One night, when he hastened into Lórindol's bedchamber to kiss him goodnight, his son looked at him very seriously.

"Sia, I need to tell you something."

"What is it, penneth?" Erestor asked, already thinking of the long list of tasks still waiting on his desk.

"When I grow up, I want to be a Dwarf."

Erestor blinked and shook his head, thinking he had misheard.

"I - what?"

"A Dwarf. I want to be a Dwarf."

Despite his busy schedule, Erestor sat down on his son's bed and gently stroked his hair.

"Penneth, that is a lovely thought, but you cannot be a Dwarf."

Lórindol frowned.

"Why not? Dûlo said if I start early, I can learn how to become a decent smith, even if I am an Elf. He said being immortal is an advantage, as I will have more time to practice."

Erestor tried to keep up with his son's train of thought.

"Who is Dûlo, and why would you need to become a smith?"

"Dûlo is my friend, and I need to become a smith to become a Dwarf, that is why," Lórindol explained, clearly annoyed by his parent's thick-wittedness. "But I could also blow things up. Rocks and mountains." He sighed happily. "Imagine, sia. So much fun. Boom!"

Erestor still had no idea what his son was talking about; Lórindol had a very vivid imagination, so "Dûlo" was very likely just another of his imaginary friends, like Oskar the warg and Rollo the dragon.

"Lórindol, as long as you live in this house, you will certainly _not_ blow anything up. But if you should decide one day to become an Elven smith, so be it. You could learn the trade from a master in our realm. But you cannot become a Dwarf, that is not possible, because you are an Elf. And now go to sleep, it is late, penneth."

He kissed Lórindol gently on his forehead and tucked him in, then hurried back to the huge pile of paper on his desk. His son, however, thought about his sia's words. If one could learn from a master how to be a smith, then one could certainly learn from a master how to be a Dwarf. He took the kaleidoscope from under his pillow, and looked into the tube, slowly turning it, while the moonlight created the most amazing sparkling pictures for him. And so he fell asleep, dreaming of glittering caves and colourful, twinkling gemstones.


	3. Blue Plates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yuletide-present newly-wed Dwarf Dûlo brings for his wife from Imladris is not quite what she expected. And as Master Erestor has put an explicit export ban on the goods, their first Yuletide together is absolutely not what the young couple expected.
> 
> While Dîn wonders about the strange dietary habits of Elves, Glorfindel realises that he is in a lot of trouble. And while he prepares to confront a Balrog of the non-winged variety, Yule is working its formative magic on his youngest son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sia”: Language of the Plains Elves, meaning “parent”. Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta by Eveiya.
> 
> This Yuletide Tale is set in the "Burning Woods" universe, and also features Mauburz, Lórindol and Estorel.

"Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no." Dûlo couldn't tear his gaze from the sleeping Elfling, and in his desperation, he pulled on the braids in his beard. "This is not good!"

"Indeed, it's not," Dîn said, and shook her head. "He emptied a whole bottle of liqueur; it's amazing he's asleep and not dead!"

"That's not what I meant!"

Dîn gave him a disapproving sidewise glare.

"Well, riding your sleigh merrily through the snow for hours without noticing that you have a passenger with you isn't exactly a sign of stellar alertness and therefore also qualifies as 'not good'. You're lucky it's only a small Elf and not a big Warg!"

Dûlo thought of Mauburz and paled, then of Glorfindel and broke out in a cold sweat.

"His father slew a Balrog and his nanny is an Orc; to be honest, I'd prefer the Warg!"

Dîn stood on the runner and looked down at the Elfling, who began to blink and stir.

"Balrogs, Orcs... what nonsense! You go and look after the horse; I'll carry the Elf sprout inside. Poor wee mite, he must be half dead with cold!"

Very carefully and tenderly, she lifted the child out of the sleigh. Holding him in her arms, she looked angrily at her husband.

"Mahal, he doesn't weigh more than a cat! Don't his parents feed him properly? What sort of people are they?"

Dûlo, who had walked to his horse to lead it to the stable, pulled a face.

"Noble people. I've seen that child eating enormous numbers of cookies, so I don't think they let him starve."

Dîn cradled her unexpected, still half-asleep guest to her chest.

"So you know this child? What's his name then? And why is he here?"

"His name is Lórindol, and I have no idea."

" _Lórindol_? Poor little sprout, what were your parents thinking? Bah, Elves, what do they know?" Dîn muttered, carrying Lórindol inside. "Now Auntie Dîn will make you a nice supper, little Lori, and then we'll see how we'll get you back to your nana, yes?"

Lórindol, slowly awaking, his head spinning from Mauburz' Yuletide Cream Liqueur, tried to focus on one of the two friendly faces in bobbing up and down in front of him.

"Donot hava nana," he slurred. Then he reached for one of the braids in Dîn's whiskers, and shook the little silver bell; when it chimed, he smiled.

"Mahal, give me strength," Dîn cried, "the father hunts Balrogs, the mother is dead, and the nanny is an Orc? No wonder the poor child ran away!"

* * *

It is difficult to find the right words to describe the feeling of absolute horror creeping up Glorfindel's spine when he came to pick up his youngest son from Mauburz' shop in the evening, only to learn that Lórindol wasn't there, but was supposed to be with _him_.

"You been here after breakfast and took Lórindol with you to visit horses," Mauburz said. "Not seen Lórindol since."

Glorfindel, leaning on the counter and trying not to succumb to panic, tried to answer as calmly as possible.

"Yes, but he returned to your shop immediately, saying he would rather spend the day with you and his Dwarf friend, as he would leave tomorrow. I said that would be fine, and I would come and pick him up in the evening."

Mauburz, busy cleaning her perfume bottles with a feather duster, shook her head, but didn't seem to be alarmed.

"Must be misunderstanding. Dûlo left shortly before noon, and Mauburz not seen Lórindol since left with you. Maybe has gone home? Must ask Master Erestor. Maybe has packed Lórindol in box with important papers by accident."

Glorfindel wasn't in the mood for jokes. It was now almost seven o'clock, so Lórindol's whereabouts were unaccounted for for seven hours. Estorel, who stood by his side and had followed the exchange, bit his lip.

"Ada, have we lost Lórindol?"

"By the Valar, no!" Glorfindel cried. "And do not mention such a thing to your sia, do you understand? I am certain that we will find your brother in no time!"

Estorel shrugged.

"But if we should have... I mean, if we do not find him again, can I have his room, ada? It is much nicer than mine."

Glorfindel looked at his oldest as if he had sprouted a second head.

"Estorel! How can you say such a thing? That is disgusting!"

Mauburz grinned and patted Estorel's head with her paw.

"Very smart Elfling. Very pragmatic." She pointed her feather duster at Glorfindel. "Remember what Mauburz said about formative years and magic of Yule?" She leaned over the counter. "Say, where you been when not with your ada, Estorel?"

"Elrohir," Estorel replied.

Mauburz waved her feather duster through the air, smiling smugly. Glorfindel didn't intend to discuss this particular matter any further, and took Estorel's hand.

"Come, we should return home. Lórindol is probably sitting in the kitchen being fed cookies."

"Or he was stolen by Orcs," Estorel said hopefully. "Or an eagle snatched him, or-"

"Will you be quiet now! No such thing happened! This is Imladris, the Last Homely House! Nothing bad happens here!"

With that, Glorfindel hurried out of Mauburz' shop, his eldest son in tow. He silently sent prayer after prayer to all Valar but Námo that Lórindol would be in the kitchen, the garden, his room or even in the library once they returned home. Because yes, this _was_ the Last Homely House, where peace and wisdom ruled, but if he had to confess to Erestor that he'd lost their youngest son, his dearly beloved would turn into a Balrog of the non-winged variety.

* * *

When Dûlo entered his home, he found his wife and Lórindol sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. She'd wrapped a warm blanket around the little Elf's shoulders, though he didn't look cold at all.

"He's an Elf, Dîn," Dûlo said, hanging up his hat, scarf and coat and putting his boots on the little wooden rack next to the door. "They don't feel the cold. He'll get heatstroke if you wrap him up like a rolled leg."

"But he's so pale, that can't be healthy."

"They all look like that, thin and sickly. No wonder, if they only eat green stuff day in, day out, never a sausage or a decent piece of ham."

Lórindol shivered.

"I feel sick," he said, and Dîn arched an eyebrow at her husband.

"Hah. See?"

"I don't think that's what he-" Dûlo began, but before he could finish, Lórindol got sick. The bottle of cream liqueur had been too much for his digestive system, and so he vomited all over the carpet.

Dûlo wrinkled his nose.

"Ew. That's disgusting. I had no idea they could do that."

"There, there," Dîn said, and went to fetch a damp cloth to clean up her young charge and mop up the mess. "What's disgusting is that you allowed this to happen in the first place, you oaf." She arched an eyebrow. "He just ruined Aunt Ula's carpet. _Aunt Ula's carpet_ , Dûlo. Isn't this child amazing?"

Dûlo scratched his head. The carpet had been a wedding present from his aunt, and it was an enormous piece in particularly garish colours. He and Dîn had often discussed the possibilities of disposing of it without starting a war, but so far, it had looked as if the multi-coloured monstrosity would become an heirloom. But now...

"Now we can tell her an Elf got sick on her carpet and we had to burn it! That's - amazing! Do we have any of the liquor left? Ula also gave us six tablecloths."

Lórindol felt much better now, and was looking around with great curiosity.

"Are you Dîn?" he asked. "You must be. Can you show me how you throw the blue dishes?"

"What?" Dîn looked at him with greatest confusion.

"He watched me lay the table, and he was fascinated. I said you could do it much better," Dûlo explained. "I don't think Elves lay their tables the way we do."

Lórindol shook his head.

"No. We do everything in a very boring way." He smiled at Dîn. "That is why I want to become a Dwarf."

"What?"

"Dwarf. I want to become a Dwarf."

Dîn laughed.

"Now you're a curious little fellow! Child, you can't become a Dwarf, you're an Elf!"

Lórindol crossed his arms over his chest.

"If I want to, I can."

Dûlo sighed.

"And that's why you hid in my sleigh?"

"Sia said I need to learn from a master. You are a master Dwarf, are you not?"

Dîn giggled.

"Yes, some master!"

Dûlo glared at her, then he put his large hand on Lórindol's shoulder.

"This was a very stupid thing to do. Running away like that, what were you thinking? Your parents must be worried sick, looking everywhere for you!"

Lórindol shuffled his feet.

"I do not think sia noticed, he is too busy making sure the present for King Thranduil is the right shade of green." He blinked at Dîn. "King Thranduil is a very important king, you know. And if his present is ship-wrecked green rather than moss-green-with-a-hue-of-morning-dew, he can get stroppy, sia says."

"Thranduil? Get stroppy?" Dîn broke out in laughter. "Yes, I can see that. Stroppy old forest gnome that he is; should be grateful he's getting anything for Yule at all. Well, I know what I'd get him, an nice big kick up the-"

"Dîn, not in front of the Elfling," Dûlo quickly interrupted.

Lórindol rubbed his chin.

"That is what ada said as well. But Mauburz said it is not possible, because you cannot wrap a kick up with a bow." He sighed. "I did not want to make them sad." His eyes began to fill with tears.

Dûlo didn't know how to handle crying people, especially not of the Elven kind, and so he quickly patted Lórindol's head, trying to comfort him.

"There, there, no worries. Look, I'll return you to your parents, and this time, you'll sit with me, and I'll tell you all I know about dragons."

"But not before tomorrow morning," Dîn said firmly. "All sort of beastly things are out at night, and little Lori here needs to eat something."

"Thank you," Lórindol said politely. "I am very hungry."

"See? I told you he's starving." Dîn shook her head. "What do you usually eat for supper, Lori?"

"Uhm... soup. An apple. And salad. Lord Elrond is a healer, and he says you get bad dreams if you eat too much."

Dîn tore at the braids in her hair, ruining her elaborate hairstyle.

"Salad? Fruit? Mahal, give me strength! Have you heard that, Dûlo? Now we know why Elves are such a sourly, miserable lot! Now, time you got something decent to eat, Lori. A full belly gives you the sweetest dreams ever! And while Dûlo here fries the sausages, you and I will lay the table."

Dîn winked at Lórindol, and quickly threw him a blue plate and a cup with a pattern of small white dots. Though surprised, Lórindol caught both deftly mid air, and put them carefully on the table.

"Not bad for an Elf," Dîn said, nodding appreciatively. "And after the main course, I'll show you how to juggle with apples."


	4. Blue Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yuletide-present newly-wed Dwarf Dûlo brings for his wife from Imladris is not quite what she expected. And as Master Erestor has put an explicit export ban on the goods, their first Yuletide together is absolutely not what the young couple expected.
> 
> Lórindol is not missing, he just cannot be found. And as Estorel does not get what he wants, he gives his parents what they need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sia": Language of the Plains Elves, meaning "parent". Rabbit and the concept of the Plains Elves are creations by the ever lovely Magic Rat (delaese on LJ) and used with permission.
> 
> Beta by Eveiya.
> 
> This Yuletide Tale is set in the "Burning Woods" universe, and also features Mauburz, Lórindol and Estorel.
> 
> \--- I'm not a friend of lengthy personal author notes, but as I've disappeared for so long: as you can see, I am back. I wasn't able to write due to health reasons (a condition I lovingly call "zombie fingers", let's not speak about it anymore), and I hope I'm fit enough now to finish all my stories. Thanks for your patience! ---

Erestor was comparing fabric samples in two different shades of green. He was just trying to decide which of them was moss-green-with-a-hue-of-morning-dew as favoured by Thranduil when Glorfindel sidled into his study with Estorel in tow and informed him that Lórindol was missing, sort of.

" _Sort of_? What do you mean by _sort of_? How can an Elfling be _sort of missing_ , Glorfindel?" Erestor's eyes had narrowed and his head was tilted slightly to one side, as if he had misheard what his beloved had just said.

"Well, this is Imladris," Glorfindel said, sweating profusely and pulling on the collar of his jerkin, which he suddenly found to be very restricting. "Lórindol cannot really be lost. It is just that I cannot find him at the moment."

Erestor dropped the fabric samples.

" _You lost our son_?"

"No, I did not," Glorfindel protested. "He is just is not where he is supposed to be."

"I cannot believe this! Have you alerted the guards? Organised search parties?"

Glorfindel ran his hands through his hair.

"Ehr - not yet. I thought-"

Erestor made a strange noise, not unlike the scream of a wounded deer.

"What sort of father are you? Losing our son and then not even looking for him? By the Valar! He could have drowned in the Bruinen by now!"

Glorfindel held up his hands.

"Erestor, beloved, please calm down! We will all go looking for him! I am absolutely certain he his fine and sitting somewhere, eating cookies! And he would never go near the Bruinen! And even _if_ he did, he can swim like a fish, and-"

"Maybe he was taken by a Warg," Estorel added helpfully. "Ada says I cannot have his room, though. What do you say, sia?"

Erestor didn't reply; instead he howled in anguish, and Glorfindel was shoved aside as his beloved stormed out of the door, yelling for guards and shouting orders that everybody, absolutely everybody, including the cook and the gardener, must go and search for his son, and leave no stone unturned until Lórindol was back home.

"I think sia does not want me to have Lórindol's room, either," Estorel said sulkily.

Glorfindel glared at his elder son.

"Estorel, if you mention the bloody room once more, I will paint you moss-green-with-a-hue-of-morning-dew and send you to Mirkwood as a Yule present for King Thranduil. Now come and help me look for your brother."

Estorel pushed the fabric samples Erestor had dropped aside with his foot.

"You only ever care about Lórindol. And anyway, that green looks more like puke," he muttered. But as his father was already halfway down the corridor, he hurried to catch up with him.

* * *

"His eyes are open. Are you certain he's sleeping?"

Dîn looked down at Lórindol, who rested in the bottom drawer of a large chest under a thick layer of quilts and furs.

"Their eyes are always open," Dûlo replied. "See how they are veiled? It means an Elf is sleeping. Or dead."

"Shhh, don't say such a thing!" Dîn hissed, and elbowed her husband in the side.

"He's a very bright little spark, my dear, but he doesn't understand our language."

The two gazed down at the sleeping Elfling, and Dîn took Dûlo's hand.

"One day we'll watch over our own child."

Dûlo arched an eyebrow.

"Do you think he will eat as many sausages as this one?"

Dîn giggled.

"She might. Quite amazing, wasn't it? Poor wee mite has never had a sausage in his life! Well, looks like he enjoyed them. Maybe you should pack some for him to take home, for Yule."

Dûlo thought of Master Erestor and imagined his face upon seeing a basket full of sausages.

"I don't think his parents would appreciate such a gift, my love."

Dîn let go of Dûlo's hand, walked to the hearth and poured herself some tea from the kettle hanging over the fire.

"How very strange. Aren't those Plains Elves like Orcs, of sorts? Or Uruk-hai? Can't see them living on salad and carrots."

Dûlo rubbed his chin, considering the matter.

"Can't say Master Erestor looks like an Orc, but then only his grandfather was a Plains Elf, they say. At first sight, he looks like any other Elf, but there's something about him, something... I was told he'd rip your head off with his bare hands and use it to play Stone Piglet with your bones if he felt you were a threat to his family." He fiddled with the braids in his beard. "And he's probably gathering an army to hunt down the one who stole his son as we speak."

"But you didn't steal his son," Dîn protested. "Why would you? It was a foolish prank by a child. Even the most thick-headed Elf will understand that! Tomorrow you'll bring wee Lori back home to Imladris, and all is well."

Dûlo wanted to say something, but then the house was hit by a strong gust of wind; so hard that it shook and the glasses in the shelf rattled. He quickly stepped to the window and peered outside.

"Mahal help us, I fear that won't be possible," he said, and reached for his coat and furs. "There's a storm coming in; stoke the fire while I'm away, will you? We're in for a very cold night."

He put on his fur hat and opened the door, disappearing into the dark and the cold.

"Great. A storm. Just what we need." Dîn drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders, then went to Lórindol and tucked the furs closer around his tiny frame. "But at least if Dûlo can't go out in the storm, neither can your parents, little Lori," she said, then she returned to the hearth and added some logs to the fire.

* * *

"Nothing," Glorfindel said upon entering Mauburz' shop, his face pale with worry. "Every stone in Imladris has been turned, every Elf, Dwarf and Man has been asked; nobody has seen Lórindol."

Erestor looked at his husband, whose golden hair was covered with a thin layer of snow, and then he watched the street outside through the windows. Snow was falling thick and heavily.

"Then he is not in Imladris any more," Erestor stated. "And there is a storm coming up beyond our borders. Fin, we must go and find our son, before it is too late!"

Glorfindel looked at him and nodded, but Erestor knew what he was thinking, because it was the same question torturing him: where could Lórindol possibly be?

"So I really do not get to have his room then?"

"Estorel, by the Valar-" Glorfindel began.

"Fine then. I know where he went."

Erestor and Glorfindel both stared at him.

"What?" they said in unison.

"I can tell you. It is not difficult."

"See? Told you no point getting upset," Mauburz said, reaching for her feather duster. "Parents always make big fuss over nothing."

"What do you mean by that, Estorel? Speak; we are going insane with worry!" Erestor knelt down and grasped his son by the shoulders.

Estorel sighed and bit his lip.

"Only if you promise that you will not be angry and that I will not be painted green and sent to Mirkwood."

Glorfindel pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I promise you that we would not inflict such horror on Thranduil. Now please, speak!"

"Sia said it is more important to learn my letters and numbers, but Rabbit said that sia knows no more about life than a freshly hatched chicken."

Estorel's face was one big question mark.

"What on earth are you talking about? What has Rabbit got to do with this?"

"Rabbit said it is useful to know your letters, but it is more important to know how to catch crayfish. And how to hunt without a knife. And how to find the scent of your family."

It began to dawn on Erestor that Rabbit, before he had left with Haldir and their daughter Bramble for the Golden Wood, might have given his sons some lessons on the ways of the Plains Elves behind his back that he would not have approved of.

"Estorel, you can tell me all about this later, but now I need to know where Lórindol is!"

"I will show you. Come."

They left Mauburz' shop, and Glorfindel sat Estorel in front of him on Asfaloth's back.

"Down that road," Estorel ordered, and Glorfindel followed his directions. They rode through busy streets, across the market square, until, just outside of the city, they reached a stable where merchants used to leave their horses while they sold their goods.

"That is where he went," Estorel said, then slipped off the horse and ran inside.

Glorfindel and Erestor looked at each other in puzzlement.

"Just _what_ is he doing?" Erestor asked.

"I have no idea, but it looks as if he is very certain of it. Come."

They followed Estorel inside, and could witness the strange sight of their son standing in the middle of the stable, his face wearing an expression of intense concentration. He looked different, older, and it was only when Glorfindel saw his son's little nose twitching that he finally understood what he was doing.

"By the Valar, Erestor - he is trying to find Lórindol's scent! It is what Rabbit used to do when he was looking for Bramble; he always found her by her scent! How is that possible?"

Erestor stared at his son; confused and also slightly scared. Finally, the young one pointed at the door of the last stable on the left and grinned.

"He was here," he said triumphantly. "Now you only have to find out where this horse went, and you know where Lórindol is!"

Glorfindel rushed off to question the owner of the stable, and Erestor approached his son.

"Estorel, how can you know this?"

Estorel shrugged.

"I can smell him, sia. And you, and ada... and other people. I am not as good as Lórindol, though." Estorel pulled a face. "That is why you never catch him when he steals cookies; he can smell you coming and runs away just in time. It is not fair, is it?"

Erestor sniffed, trying to catch a trace of that unique scent that was so typical of his youngest child, but all he could smell was hay and horses and their droppings.

"No. No, I guess it is not."


End file.
